Read Online The Recruit: A Taskforce Story by Brad Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brad Taylor
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Military, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
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got a fucking problem with that?”
Knuckles grinned and said, “Decoy, this is Pike.”
Epilogue
Three years later, Knuckles sat in silence, the car engine ticking slowly as his mind tumbled over those actions from so long ago. Short in time, but a chasm in memories. The recollections brought a lump to his throat, but were fond nonetheless. He stared at the front door of the town house, trying to gather the courage to approach.
An Arlington, Virginia, police car rolled by, the officers eyeing him. He remained in place. When it returned, the policemen now overtly staring, he waved and opened his car door, his courage forced on him.
He advanced to the small concrete porch at a leaden pace, the entrance growing closer and closer. Eventually, as if of its own volition, his finger pushed the bell.
The door opened and he saw Carly’s face light up. Her hair was a little longer, and she was not as tan, but she still looked good. Now working in the bowels of the CIA headquarters, she was dressed like a typical businesswoman.
Her eyes searched past him, to the sidewalk behind, and he knew why. While Decoy had remained true to his perpetual quest to conquer the opposite sex, he’d also continued seeing Carly, an unspoken agreement between them. She was as close as he’d ever come to a steady relationship, and Knuckles knew how much he cared for her. And she for him.
He said, “Hey, Carly.”
He saw the terror grow behind her eyes and realized she understood what he was going to say.
“It’s about Decoy. . . .”
Read on for an exclusive extended excerpt of Brad Taylor’s
THE INSIDER THREAT
A PIKE LOGAN THRILLER
Available June 30, 2015, wherever books and eBooks are sold
1
Jacob Driscoll watched the four men, fascinated that they showed no resistance whatsoever. Completely resigned to their fate. A fly landed on the forehead of the nearest one—the one he was to kill—and the captive let it crawl about, tasting his sweat.
Jacob listened to the spokesman continue to rail in Arabic, a small crowd gathered in the square, outnumbered two to one by the gunmen. He didn’t understand the language but could guess at what was being said.
These men are traitors. This is the fate that befalls all who oppose the
Kalipha
. Stand with us, or suffer the same.
Far from cheering, the small grouping of people looked cowed, as if they wanted to be anywhere but here. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They’d rather be on the outside watching than on their bellies with their necks stretched out.
The spokesman droned on, building toward a grand spectacle, his black tunic covered in dust, the AK-47 swinging about with his body language, and Jacob knew it was coming close. Execution time. His first.
In the four months he’d been inside the cult of death known as the Islamic State, he’d witnessed many, many executions, acting as a gunman on the periphery, but he’d never done one on his own.
Not that he minded killing. It hadn’t bothered him in the past, but the action had always been at the barrel of a gun, and he wondered how this would feel. In a detached, almost scientific way, he wondered if it would be different from carving the carcasses of the rabbits he’d killed in his youth. When he’d literally had to hunt for survival.
He looked at his partners, seeing Hussein fidgeting, the nervous tics growing more pronounced. He wasn’t built for this cauldron, and Jacob thought it ironic that Hussein was the one who had recruited them. Convinced them to come to this faraway land.
Not that they had many alternatives after fleeing the cesspool of “rehabilitation” they’d been placed within. Killing the guard had ensured that.
Carlos and Devon, now known as Yousef and Talib, showed no such hesitation. They had embraced the cult of death completely, changing their names and fervently soaking up the Salafist ideology like a cactus in the rain. They were on board one hundred and ten percent, considering this day a
Knuckles grinned and said, “Decoy, this is Pike.”
Epilogue
Three years later, Knuckles sat in silence, the car engine ticking slowly as his mind tumbled over those actions from so long ago. Short in time, but a chasm in memories. The recollections brought a lump to his throat, but were fond nonetheless. He stared at the front door of the town house, trying to gather the courage to approach.
An Arlington, Virginia, police car rolled by, the officers eyeing him. He remained in place. When it returned, the policemen now overtly staring, he waved and opened his car door, his courage forced on him.
He advanced to the small concrete porch at a leaden pace, the entrance growing closer and closer. Eventually, as if of its own volition, his finger pushed the bell.
The door opened and he saw Carly’s face light up. Her hair was a little longer, and she was not as tan, but she still looked good. Now working in the bowels of the CIA headquarters, she was dressed like a typical businesswoman.
Her eyes searched past him, to the sidewalk behind, and he knew why. While Decoy had remained true to his perpetual quest to conquer the opposite sex, he’d also continued seeing Carly, an unspoken agreement between them. She was as close as he’d ever come to a steady relationship, and Knuckles knew how much he cared for her. And she for him.
He said, “Hey, Carly.”
He saw the terror grow behind her eyes and realized she understood what he was going to say.
“It’s about Decoy. . . .”
Read on for an exclusive extended excerpt of Brad Taylor’s
THE INSIDER THREAT
A PIKE LOGAN THRILLER
Available June 30, 2015, wherever books and eBooks are sold
1
Jacob Driscoll watched the four men, fascinated that they showed no resistance whatsoever. Completely resigned to their fate. A fly landed on the forehead of the nearest one—the one he was to kill—and the captive let it crawl about, tasting his sweat.
Jacob listened to the spokesman continue to rail in Arabic, a small crowd gathered in the square, outnumbered two to one by the gunmen. He didn’t understand the language but could guess at what was being said.
These men are traitors. This is the fate that befalls all who oppose the
Kalipha
. Stand with us, or suffer the same.
Far from cheering, the small grouping of people looked cowed, as if they wanted to be anywhere but here. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. They’d rather be on the outside watching than on their bellies with their necks stretched out.
The spokesman droned on, building toward a grand spectacle, his black tunic covered in dust, the AK-47 swinging about with his body language, and Jacob knew it was coming close. Execution time. His first.
In the four months he’d been inside the cult of death known as the Islamic State, he’d witnessed many, many executions, acting as a gunman on the periphery, but he’d never done one on his own.
Not that he minded killing. It hadn’t bothered him in the past, but the action had always been at the barrel of a gun, and he wondered how this would feel. In a detached, almost scientific way, he wondered if it would be different from carving the carcasses of the rabbits he’d killed in his youth. When he’d literally had to hunt for survival.
He looked at his partners, seeing Hussein fidgeting, the nervous tics growing more pronounced. He wasn’t built for this cauldron, and Jacob thought it ironic that Hussein was the one who had recruited them. Convinced them to come to this faraway land.
Not that they had many alternatives after fleeing the cesspool of “rehabilitation” they’d been placed within. Killing the guard had ensured that.
Carlos and Devon, now known as Yousef and Talib, showed no such hesitation. They had embraced the cult of death completely, changing their names and fervently soaking up the Salafist ideology like a cactus in the rain. They were on board one hundred and ten percent, considering this day a
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